Unofficial Portkey Archive

The Catalyst

*

*

Chapter Eighteen: Angel Unbound

Auror Stuart Falworth stood outside the nondescript metal door, swishing the folder in his hands up and down so that it flapped against his open palm with a thwacking sound. He shifted from foot to foot, eyed the door handle again, and sighed. He knew why Entwhistle had directed him to this interrogation room, understood all the reasons, even agreed with them, but that didn't make him desire to be in other room any less. Dunwiddie and Symmes were taking on Casimir Dolohov, and if time hadn't been so crucial, he might've liked to stand at the one-way glass and watch them have a go at the forbidding looking man.

But he'd been ordered to question the girl, the mousy-looking one who'd been in the corridor, who'd fired the spell at Eleanor. Falworth knew that it was his youthfulness, his open, expressive face that had gotten him this particular duty. He didn't doubt his ability to crack Dolohov, were he given the opportunity, but Entwhistle knew his men, and even Falworth had to admit that he had a far better shot at engendering trust with this girl than did craggy-faced Dunwiddie or dour Symmes. Eleanor lurked at the back of his mind, accompanied by the frightened faces of her famous parents. He was becoming much too close to this case. Better that he did not go into a room where he would be tempted to do something to Dolohov that could very well get him sent to Azkaban. He shook his head at himself, trying to clear the crowded thoughts from his mind. He was wasting time.

Before he could talk himself out of it, or further delay, he grabbed the door handle and twisted in one wrenching motion, thrusting himself into the room. The girl looked up at his noisy entrance, startled. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Her thin fingers, with their bitten-down nails, trembled on the table top.

Frightened rabbit, Falworth thought, and allowed a gentle smile to light his face.

"Can I get you anything? Are you thirsty?"

"N - no…" She stammered, flicking her eyes up at him and then down, the barest modicum of eye contact.

"Is there anyone you would like to call? Your parents? Your solicitor, perhaps?"

Something almost derisive glimmered in her eyes for an instant. She shook her head in the negative, not bothering to answer aloud.

"What is your name?"

"Rhunya V - Vaiciunas."

"You worked in the facility where they kept the child, did you not?" He tried to keep his voice clinical. The child.

A short, jerky nod. Her eyes darted to the one-way glass, then back.

"You were working with wizards - Healers? - and Muggle scientists?"

Another nod.

"To accomplish what?"

"They wanted to - to transplant magic into Squibs."

"What about Muggles?"

"It wouldn't work. Muggles are - are missing something, an - an enzyme or something… the magic can't be processed or activated."

"I would think that a Pureblood like Dolohov wouldn't even dream of attempting to give magic to Muggles."

"He - he - it was Dr. Moran's idea. I think they fought about it."

"Any idea why transferring magic to Squibs didn't work?"

Something shuttered in her face. Falworth glanced over the file that he already had mostly memorized. Her change in body language was interesting. Here we go…

"Dr. Moran said the s - science was sound. It should have worked, but her magic was - was - it was too much, it was - it was unstable. When they - they forced it, forced her, Dr. Moran - he died. It was unworkable. They - they said we would have to start all over… with - with a new child."

"And how did Mr. Dolohov feel about that?"

"He was angry. And Dr. Moran was dead. I - I don't even know if we - er, they could have done it all over again."

"Why did you leave the child behind when you fled?"

"She - she must have been overlooked. It was an accident." Rhunya would not look at him.

"Now, Miss Vaiciunas. You're not going to sit there and lie to me, are you? Why would you be up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, waiting to hit her with a spell, if leaving her behind were merely an accident?"

"She - she might have talked." The excuse was lamely given.

Falworth smiled at her.

"Miss Vaiciunas - Rhunya… I know you're scared. I know that Dr. Moran and Casimir Dolohov were not nice people. I know that you probably had to do things that you didn't want to do. I don't think you are a bad person. You were a Healer trainee, weren't you?"

She blinked at him, surprised.

"I - I didn't finish my second year. My - my parents were killed in an accident. There wasn't any money left. I had to drop out."

"And that's when you took the position with Dolohov and Moran?"

"I was sleeping in an alley!" His question had been blandly asked, without accusation, but her voice was blistering, with some of the first real emotion she'd showed since he'd entered the room.

"Perfectly understandable. You've got to make your own way in the world, yeah?" He gave a casual shrug, and saw the rigidity in her posture relax a bit. "You may have made some poor choices, aligned with questionable people, but you can rectify that now. I need to know why you left her behind and what was in that spell you cast."

"I told you - "

"I want the truth, Rhunya. I want to see you make your parents proud."

She slanted a look at him, as though acknowledging that she knew what he was doing, yet could not deny that it was effective. She closed her eyes and breathed in sharply through her nose.

"She was left deliberately. I - I overheard Dolohov talking to some of the staff. Not - not many people knew she was Harry Potter's child. But - but Dolohov wanted him to find her. They knew the Aurors were close."

"Dolohov wanted Harry Potter to find her? Why?"

"He hates Harry Potter. Don't - don't most dark Pureblood families? He said this was `plan B'."

"What was plan B?"

"They gave her an inert potion before the raid. The potion… and then the spell…" She shrank away from him in her chair, as she murmured the last part barely audibly.

"To - to kill her?" Falworth struggled to keep his voice level, not wanting the emotions surging through him to escape into his face.

"The spell activated the potion. Her - her magic is dangerous. It's too much like her father's; it's too powerful. Dr. Moran said - he called it a cas - cascade failure. He said she would be a time bomb."

Falworth felt sure that his heart had stopped its steady rhythm inside his chest. And perhaps time had stopped too, because the moment that he merely sat and stared at the girl seemed to last an eternity.

"She's going to kill Harry Potter?" He finally managed. His fingertips were damp on the surface of the case file.

"It will kill everyone." Her voice was tremulous. She swallowed noisily. "If - if her magic is fluctuating the way Dr. Moran predicted, it will destabilize everything magical in the vicinity… starting - starting with the most similar, starting with Harry Potter. Nothing would be left of St. Mungo's, but a crater."

"When?" He all but whispered, in hoarse horror.

Her eyes were sorrowful and dull, transfixed by the worn table top.

"Not long."

****

When Harry staggered out of the Floo network into the crowded Emergency Department of St. Mungo's, things were a blur. He could barely make out Hermione, her curls whipping behind her as she gestured and shouted. He made it about three steps into what was intended to be a sprint, before he fell to his knees, still protectively cradling his daughter. He felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin.

"Harry!" Hermione's cry sounded like it was very far away, but a gurney soon hovered next to him, and Eleanor was lifted from his arms by a phalanx of mediwitches.

Hermione was fluttering like a cornered Snitch, not sure who she needed to be hovering over first. She settled for grabbing Harry's hand, hauling him up and steadying him, without really looking at him, while she yelled for the receptionist to notify Healers Fellowes and Desai immediately.

"Are you all right?"

The buzzing in his ears was beginning to fade, as was the electric current through his veins and the gelatinous feeling in his joints.

"I think so," he managed, and she was already moving, following the gurney. He stayed on her heels, dodging patients, visitors, and staff alike, eyes unseeing, mind uncomprehending.

Eleanor…

The room was jammed full of wizards and witches; spellfire flew, potion vials soared through the air and were snagged neatly by inerrant, purposeful hands. Cacophony reigned; Harry could only make out snatches of the orders shouted and spells cast. He could only see a glimpse of Eleanor on the gurney, pale and clammy. Her limbs twitched ineffectively against Restraining charms. He stood motionless in the doorway, feeling oddly like he was watching the whole scene from above himself, until he caught Healer Desai's eye. She murmured something to a nearby mediwitch, who then came to kindly, but firmly, shuffle him out of the room. He planted his feet, but still somehow found himself out in the corridor. The mediwitch was speaking at him, but he couldn't decipher any of the noises into intelligible language. His eyes were burning, his fists clenched; his fingernails were digging painfully into his palms.

He craned his neck to see what was going on, but could no longer spot his daughter in the crush of people. An alarm went off; activity increased. He was suddenly startled to find that Hermione was standing next to him. How long had she been there? He blinked at her.

The terror in her eyes mirrored what he was feeling, the roiling emotions too horrifying to be put into words. Mutely, they stared at one another, and Harry saw shivers beginning to tremble through her body. Shock, the shred of knowledge flared to life in his mind. He lifted his arm, still feeling like he was being controlled by something other than himself, and pulled her into his chest, pressing his lips to the top of her head, when she began to cry.

More alarms. Three mediwitches sprinted out of the room, while two others plus another Healer dashed in. Part of his mind distantly noted the billowing of Auror robes: Falworth and Dunwiddie had arrived, their faces pale and terribly solemn. Harry thought that he probably should flag one of them down and ask about the spell that had been cast at the MLE, but he felt both distraught and sluggish, unable to adequately take in everything that was happening. This can't be happening.

" - oing to have to clear this entire floor."

Falworth's no-nonsense pronouncement snagged their entire attention. Hermione lifted her head, sniffling noisily, as they exchanged bewildered glances. She's not contagious. Is she still in danger? Are they coming after her?

The mediwitch they had intercepted looked like she was going to argue with Falworth.

"Listen to me!" The Auror's voice was commanding, carrying through the corridor a little more clearly. "We've got to get everyone out of here, everyone off of this floor, and we've got to ward off that room!" He handed her a small roll of parchment, affixed with a Ministry seal. "I have the authorization to see this done immediately."

Falworth looked up, and saw Harry and Hermione standing just the short distance away. There was something ineffably sad in the Auror's gaze, and it made Hermione's heart seize up with dread. She straightened up, entwined her fingers with Harry's, and threaded her way through the building chaos to where the officials stood.

"What's wrong?" Hermione entreated. "What are the wards for? Are people coming after Eleanor?"

Falworth shook his head slowly, the artificial hospital light glinting coldly off of his curls. "Casimir Dolohov is and will remain in our custody. We know of no further external threat to Eleanor." He swallowed, looked like he might say something else, but then turned away. "Now, if you'll - " His progress was halted by the clenching of Hermione's other hand in the sleeve of his robes.

"What do you mean by external threat? What do you know then? Why are you warding this floor?"

"For the protection of everyone else here."

An insidious certainty crept its way inside Harry's mind with Falworth's words. Fear and dread sent a shot of adrenaline through him, and he suddenly felt as if he were once again operating at full capacity.

"The spell? The spell that woman cast? What did it do to her?"

Falworth forced himself to meet the younger wizard's blazing eyes.

"It activated an inert agent in Eleanor's body. Something she was made to ingest for this precise purpose. A plan they had enacted from the very moment Dolohov's own plans for her magic failed. They've overloaded her magic, waiting until you had claimed her. Her system is consuming itself."

"They used her to get to me. They wanted me." Harry's voice was dull.

"They're trying to take out the entire hospital. The wards should contain the damage to this floor. Which is why we also need you both to leave."

"Like hell we will," Hermione rejoined hotly.

"It's the only way we can guarantee your safety." Sod our safety, Harry thought vehemently.

"They're clearing the floor," Desai said. "You won't be allowed to stay." Her eyes were sorrowful, and she and Hermione seemed to have some sort of wordless conversation to which Harry was not privy. Hermione had wilted against him, back to being a frightened parent once again.

"How much time do we have?" She asked quietly.

"Not much. A half-hour maybe?"

"How much time - Hermione, I'm not leaving her. There's got to be something… She mentioned - she mentioned being a Squib once. Couldn't we do something? Remove it?"

"Harry, we can't remove magic from a wizard or witch any more than Dolohov could give it to a Squib or a Muggle."

"But when - before she was born - they - it wasn't in the books." Harry's voice was desperate; he knew it. There had to be something; surely there was something. Hermione's eyes were simultaneously compassionate and broken. Tears trickled in steady streams down her cheeks.

"Mr. Potter, she was an unborn baby then. Her magic was nascent. It certainly wasn't in the state of upheaval it is now. I'm afraid there's …"

"No!" He spoke hastily, to prevent her from finishing her sentence: nothing we can do; as if speaking it aloud would cause it to become fact. "We only just found her. This can't be the way that it ends. This can't be…" He was sucking in deep draughts of air, but still felt like he couldn't breathe. Something was compressing his chest; something was choking him. He couldn't get anything into his lungs. Grief. It was a weighty burden.

"She's had several potions to help stabilize her, though I'm afraid it's a stop-gap measure at best. She's conscious though… lucid. You should go to her, while there's still time." Shravana Desai's voice was gentle.

While there's still time. Harry felt like he was going to throw up. He managed a nod at Healer Desai, though his vision was so blurred he couldn't make out any of her features. Without looking at Hermione, he moved toward the now much emptier room. She trailed behind him, their fingers still entangled.

Various magical medical accoutrements whistled and puffed and flashed intermittently, but the room was otherwise very quiet. Eleanor was ensconced in the narrow metal bed, her hair snarled and damp around her face. Her cheeks were flushed beneath heavy-lidded eyes that she lifted toward them with effort. Her hand groped restlessly atop the sheet. Harry fished one of the gloves out of his pocket, and put it on before taking her hand in his, his eyes burning with the indignity that he could not touch her, could not touch her, not even now.

"I am sorry, Father." Her limbs twitched at the magic boiling inside of her. Harry could feel it building, even through the gloves. Something sparked and popped, and a mediwitch scurried in, wand aloft, to adjust a setting, taking no notice of them at all.

"You haven't done anything to be sorry for, dear heart."

"I cannot - I - "

Hermione hushed her, smoothing her hair back from her pale forehead with a gentle hand.

"You know what you did, Eleanor?" Hermione's voice was soft and loving, though Harry could still hear the subtle clog of tears beneath her words. "You are a hero. You saved us. I didn't know what we were not-saying." She used Eleanor's term, and a ghost of a smile wisped across the girl's face. "Your father didn't know. But you did, and you made us see. You made us see each other."

"Do you promise?" Eleanor's voice was hopeful, desperate.

"We promise." Harry croaked, barely able to speak through the tightness in his throat. He met Hermione's eyes, awash in tears, for the first time since they'd entered the room. There was an aura of solemnity as if they'd just exchanged marriage vows. Eleanor's fingers fluttered around his, butterfly soft. God, he was going to miss her so much.

Both Harry and Hermione jumped as a Shrieking Charm wailed suddenly above their heads. Healer Desai and three mediwitches rushed in, followed by the Aurors. Harry could feel the surge of magical energy building beneath his fingertips.

"Her magic is fighting the restraints. It's going to break through," Hermione warned them. Harry suddenly recalled her words from the other night. It's just another barrier. "Clearing this floor isn't going to be enough."

Falworth and Dunwiddie exchanged glances, as if something Hermione said had just confirmed their own privately-held fears.

"She said St. Mungo's would be a crater," Falworth admitted reluctantly. Nobody had to ask who she was.

"Everything magical thing - be it charm, ward, object, or person - will be completely destabilized. The destructive output from the overload will be enormous. There are patients here who cannot be moved." There was a quiet urgency in Shravana Desai's voice.

Suddenly, Harry felt like he was back in the Ministry at the end of his fifth year. The fight in the Department of Mysteries had been a debacle. Sirius was dead. He was lucky that his friends had not been killed. Bellatrix Lestrange was mocking him, and… and Voldemort's presence had bloomed inside his head. Kill the boy… Voldemort's gamble had not been a gamble at all, knowing that Dumbledore would not take his life, knowing that the venerable wizard would not aim a killing blow while he wore a child's face, Harry's face.

Dolohov had counted on the same thing.

"I - I do not want to hurt anyone," Eleanor spoke with difficulty, her fingers twisting almost painfully around Harry's. "I never - I never wanted - "

"A very strong sedative might - "

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Shravana!" Hermione's harsh tone gave voice to the same thought he'd had, before Harry could even open his mouth.

"What do you suggest we do? We have a responsibility to the patients here."

"Yes, to all of them!" Hermione bit back.

Harry jammed his other hand into his pocket, feeling like this whole situation was surreally horrifying. Were they truly having this conversation? While he was losing his daughter? His fingers curled around something cool and cylindrical, and it took his frazzled neurons a long moment to suss out what it was.

His broom…

"Wrap her up warmly," he said suddenly, startling everyone, including himself. "I'll - I'll take her out of here… somewhere away from people."

"You can't Apparate with her. Not with her magic in this kind of flux," Hermione said softly. Harry withdrew his hand from his pocket, and showed her the tiny alloy broom cupped in the palm of his hand.

"I'll take her to the flight testing grounds. Nobody will be there." He heaved a great, shuddering breath, as he blinked back the burning in his eyes. His jaw muscles trembled with his effort to speak. "Whatever ha - happens… it won't hurt anyone else."

"Harry," Auror Falworth said gently, cupping a hand on his shoulder in a comradely way. "Your safety won't - "

"I'll not leave her to face this alone." There was quiet resolution in his voice. The shreds of Hermione's composure wavered and broke.

"I'll go with you." She was not asking, and he did not attempt to dissuade her. He just jerked his chin down, an apparent acquiescence, and waited for them to finish swathing Eleanor in a heavy blanket and lower the wards. When Healer Desai indicated with a gesture that the wards were down, Harry strode out through the crowded waiting area, with Hermione this time trailing in his wake.

Just before he crossed the magical threshold leading outside, he turned to Hermione, leaning to kiss her gently on the cheek, speaking even as he Enlarged the alloy broom. "Go ahead, and Apparate up to the testing grounds. I'll meet you there. Shouldn't take me more than a half-hour."

Hermione stammered an unintelligible reply, and only just managed to Disillusion him, Eleanor, and the broom, as he eased out the door, Statute of Secrecy be damned. She saw faint motion as he swung his leg over the broomstick, and then , with a sort of eddy in the air, they were gone. Hermione felt as though a large chunk of herself had gone with them.

With the distracted air of someone who needed to do something, but wasn't sure what, Hermione pivoted in the main entryway to the wizarding hospital, only then becoming aware that nearly every eye in the waiting area was fixed firmly on her. A few of the more unfriendly looks came from those who had a copy of the Prophet unfurled on their laps. Hermione couldn't bring herself to care much. She would take every ill wish or malicious glance if it meant that her little girl was going to be okay.

It isn't fair, she thought. A handful of days… that's all we get? Not enough to even make a good beginning, to find out her favorite color, to buy her clothes, to have a birthday party, Christmas… She choked back a sob, and knew her nose was running. We didn't even get to take her to the zoo. Grief clawed at her insides, rending and tearing, leaving a cavernous void of pain. The injustice of it all made her want to scream, and she knew she couldn't stay there another moment, even if it meant being up at the testing field long before Harry and Eleanor were.

She Disapparated with a crack, not sparing another glance for the gawkers in the waiting room.

***

Harry could just make out Hermione's bright jumper and the halo of her hair, as he made his descent, carefully guiding the prototype broom with one hand. He had had to add a layer or two of protection spells, as the interaction of his magic with Eleanor's had overridden the physical layers between them. He was mindful of what Hermione had said about Eleanor's magic bucking against attempts to restrain it, and had only increased the buffers between them when he became worried that it would impede his ability to keep the broom in the air. He had flown high and fast, and could no longer feel his fingers or the tips of his nose and ears.

As he landed, carefully cradling his daughter, and letting the broom lay where it had fallen on the testing pitch, he could see that Hermione had been crying. The cuffs of her jumper were clenched in her fists, so that her hands were completely concealed.

"How is she?" She whispered hoarsely.

"She's been in and out… it's getting worse."

"Let me have her." It was more of a plea than a command. Harry knew that it was the sensible thing to do, fatigued as he was by staving off Eleanor's magic during the flight, yet he was still reluctant. He set Eleanor carefully against Hermione's shoulder, his best friend's arms automatically encircling her, and as a unit - a trio - they sank to the softly wafting grass of the field.

Eleanor's breathing was shallow; there was sporadic eye movement beneath fluttering lids, and a pale light swirling beneath the surface of her skin, giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her tiny fingers trembled, flexed as if they would grip something. Hermione quickly offered up her own hand, and some of the stress smoothed out of the little girl's face at the contact.

"Harry, hand me my wand," Hermione said shortly, her normally authoritative tone undermined by the grief beneath it.

"Hermione…" The word was a mild admonishment, but still Harry fished the instrument out of the pocket of her robes. With a series of rapid flicks and swishes, Hermione began speaking again, her voice low and cool and knowledgeable, spitting out medical information that Harry couldn't have even began to make sense of, were he in a calmer frame of mind. "Hermione!" He repeated, somewhat more heatedly. "Hermione, stop!" The flow of words trickled to a halt.

"Is there anything you can do? Can you stop this - this overload?" The questions nearly lodged in Harry's throat, but he managed to get them out. His eyes were burning.

Hermione's lips parted, but no sound accompanied the motion. Instead, she dropped her gaze, drinking in the face of her daughter - their ­daughter - and shook her head. No.

"Then… just stop. Let's spend - let's spend the time we have left… with her."

A sob rattled out of Hermione's mouth, and she saw Harry's jaw clench as he struggled to keep his own composure. His hand found hers, and their fingers interlaced, squeezed, clung.

"There wasn't enough time," Hermione said thickly, her voice clogged with tears. "It - we should have had - we didn't get to -" She gave up trying to be articulate with a slumping shrug of her shoulders. "There were so many things we should have gotten to do."

Eleanor's eyes opened then, her eyelids raising slowly and with much effort. They were brilliantly green, sparks of color flaring within their depths.

"There was. There was time. There was so much…"

Her hand twisted out of Hermione's clasp, and groped over to where her parents' hands were twined together. Before Hermione could stammer out any kind of a warning, she felt the brush of the tiny fingers. Her gaze flew up to Harry's in alarm, but all she felt was a sort of pulsing warmth where they touched.

Harry was sitting on a hospital bed, wielding a crayon, as they talked about doors.

Harry and Hermione were showing Eleanor her new room.

Harry was bringing cake out of the kitchen after supper.

Harry and Eleanor were re-entering the flat with a shopping bag full of animal movies.

Harry, Hermione, and Eleanor were walking down the street, hand in hand, heading for the playground.

Hermione was sitting on the sofa, with Eleanor in her lap, reading a book.

Hermione and Eleanor were sitting by Harry's hospital bed. Eleanor's arms were around Hermione's neck; three little words hung in the air between them.

Tears were free flowing down Harry's face when Hermione opened her eyes. Their gazes locked, and she knew without needing to ask that he had seen it too.

"She - she held it back… for - for me, so that - so that I could see too -- so that we could both see just what we meant to her," Harry rasped with difficulty.

"It - it is getting to high for me to reach, Father," Eleanor panted. "I have to - I have to let it go."

Harry closed his eyes again, and Hermione saw a spasm of pain shudder across his face. Her heart felt like it would just cease beating from the agony of it all, and she knew she was holding Harry's hand so tightly that she would leave marks.

"Then - then let it go, Eleanor, sweetheart. It's okay."

"We love you so much, little one," Hermione managed, not even recognizing her own voice.

"I know you do. I - I love you too. I am - I am sorry that I make you sad."

"Only because we're going to miss you so much. We wouldn't trade the time we got with you for anything - anything - " Harry's voice was fierce. " - in the whole, wide world."

"Mother…"

"Yes, Eleanor?"

"You promised. Remember? You promised."

"I know. And I will."

A smile flickered at the corners of Eleanor's mouth. Her gaze went through them, beyond them. Her body grew even hotter, the light suffusing it growing brilliant enough to blind. There was a clap of thunder, a wave of energy strong enough to leave them breathless. The wards around the testing field crackled and shut down.

Hermione knew without looking that Eleanor was gone. Her eyes felt dry and tight, and there was a dead weight sitting like lead in the center of her chest. She would not have thought that it could hurt so much. She was no stranger to death - neither was Harry - but this - this - loss was infinitely worse than anything she could have imagined.

Harry was slumped across Eleanor's back, most of his weight across Hermione's folded knees. She could not see his face, and a bolt of fear shot through her.

"Harry!" She cried in a voice choked with panic. What if Eleanor's magic had overwhelmed him at the last? What if the energy output shut down his heart? "Harry, are you okay?"

He didn't answer, but did slowly lift his head, revealing a face being ravaged by grief.

"No," he said. "I'll never be okay again."

----

*runs and hides*

I promise that this is where the story was going from the very beginning. I based it on the penultimate couple of episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise. (You can ask Witherwings if you don't believe me. He is my witness!)

All I can say is: this story is not over yet. The Catalyst is still working in the lives of our two heroes.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

-->